


Sons

by Valmouth



Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Late Night Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valmouth/pseuds/Valmouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They react differently to their sons, though the parallels are sometimes worth noting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sons

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer : I own no rights to these characters or to the enormous creative universe(s) they are derived from. I mean no offence by posting this and make no money from it.
> 
> A/N : Mostly a future!fic conversation piece for Season 1 of Young Justice.

“Do you get it now?” Clark asks, hovering over his rooftop.

He looks up and frowns, the corners of his mouth tugging down in irritable enquiry. 

“Your son,” Clark elaborates.

And there’s a tone in that voice that spells trouble. 

He knows suddenly where Clark will take this conversation and he doesn’t want this. The situation is different; they’ve laid the past to rest and moved on. He doesn’t want this argument tonight. 

“No,” he warns.

Clark doesn’t listen – “Congratulations, Batman. You’ve taken your son under your wing. You didn’t reject him, didn’t make him feel unwanted. I’ll bet you said all the right things and made all the right gestures.”

Bruce keeps his face unreadable.

“But tell me, what about if he was, oh, sixteen. What about if he was unleashed on the world as a clone, an exact copy of you. Called a weapon, potentially capable of hurting you and everyone you care for?”

He thinks of Tim in the medical bay, of his son’s tantrums and the severed head he’s gotten rid of in the murky waters of the river. 

“He doesn’t know better until I teach him,” he rasps.

Clark nods, the action almost nonchalant except for how bright his eyes are, how intense. “I remember you tried to use that philosophy on me too.”

“This isn’t the same.”

“No,” Clark agrees grimly, “Because your son is only nine years old. He’s a real child. He’s not almost grown and he doesn’t look exactly like you. He didn’t pop out of nowhere wearing your family crest as if he had the right.”

Bruce holds his tongue. He doesn’t need to say that Damian has a Robin suit, and that Damian has killed in that suit. He doesn’t need to give Clark any more fuel to keep this conversation going.

“But you’re right,” Clark says, and lands lightly on the rooftop, less than a hand span from him, “That’s all over. Kon and I understand each other. I admit I made mistakes, and I’ve apologised to him for all the pain I caused. But I needed to know – do you finally understand why I reacted like I did?”

Superman is bigger than Batman, broader and an inch taller. It means nothing until they’re like this, close enough that Bruce has to look up just a little to maintain eye contact.

He lifts his chin and meets the challenge head-on. It isn’t the first time they’ve radiated hostility at each other, and it isn’t likely to be the last.

“I never failed to understand your reaction,” he replies quietly, “I just never condoned it.”

Clark’s eyebrows pull together. “Even now, you can’t forget.”

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

“I’m the one who knows all too well that you’ve cut yourself off from me ever since that incident with the boy. As if you have the right to throw away all the years we’ve worked together, all the years in which I’ve proved myself.”

“Ask yourself if your need to discuss this has anything to do with needing absolution,” Bruce snaps, “And if it does, you’re in the wrong place.”

“Oh, I would never seek absolution from you, Batman, you’d never give it. Not to me.”

Clark doesn’t step back but he seems to shrink suddenly, the anger with which he confronts Gods turning into tired frustration.

“I just wanted to ask – how did you feel? Knowing your DNA was taken against your will, and then used to create life without your consent? Without your knowledge.”

“I still took responsibility for my son.”

“You had that luxury, and you’ve had children before.”

“Children aren’t like snow globes. Every one of them is different.”

Damian is very different. Oh God, is he different, and Bruce doesn’t know how he’s going to handle him. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to tame his child when he doesn’t know him. Damian, who is both so different and so similar…

Clark watches him silently.

“Superman,” he says, “I always understood.”

“Then how does it feel to be there now.”

He remembers Talia. Remembers being drugged. It was a rape though he will never use that word, not least because the attraction still holds and he still cares. He remembers that even had Talia never drugged him, he would have gone to bed with her because he wanted to. 

“Your relationship with Luthor is entirely different,” he says.

“A child with your enemy,” Clark’s mouth twists, “It’s not so far off the mark.”

“She’s helped us in the past.”

“Lex was once my friend.”

“Unless he was something more, it isn’t the same,” Bruce says drily.

Clark flushes and finally, finally, turns his gaze aside. He shakes his head. “You’re right; I shouldn’t have come here. Forget I said anything.”

“There is no absolution for what you’ve done,” Batman says, voice hard, and then he softens his tone, “But we all understood why it was difficult. Even Superboy did.”

“But it will never be forgiven.”

“It could have been. If you’d shown courage in spite of it. You can fight and die, and you have, but you were too afraid to be a father.”

“I never thought I could be. Someone’s adopted uncle, maybe. Then to change so many years of belief in such a fundamental truth… I couldn’t.”

“We all make mistakes.”

“When Superman makes mistakes, the world suffers.”

Batman snorts. “So you feel sorry for yourself. And you get scared. Welcome to what it means to be human.”

Clark lifts off the rooftop, hovering three feet off the ground with his cape flapping against his calves. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“If you have no further business in Gotham, I suggest you leave. I have work to do.”

Batman turns his back deliberately, and he knows that Superman – Clark, Kal-El – will never let their trials and arguments break the trust they have in each other.

“How is he, your son?” Clark asks, when he’s ready to swing back out into the night.

He pauses, which is the concession he owes Clark, and he turns his head enough to show a section of the stress-tightened line of his jaw.

“He’s alive and he’s healthy. The rest will come.”

Clark leaves before he does, and Bruce soars off the rooftop with similar ease, the taunt sweep of his line pouring gentle bursts of adrenaline into his bloodstream. 

He can only give thanks that his own fear never paralysed him so badly. 

 


End file.
